


Through His Eyes

by TheScholarlyStrumpet (equipoise)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompt, Whoffaldi, whouffaldi, whouffle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 05:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2954525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equipoise/pseuds/TheScholarlyStrumpet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt: Bodyswap!</p><p>Clara comes to better understand some things about The Doctor, incuding why he shys away from her touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through His Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Tumblr prompt! I got really excited and wrote a lot. If school doesn't eat my life, I'd maybe like to continue this Verse...

Clara’s enormous eyes were already half shut by the time the whir of the TARDIS engines dissipated from her living room. Three days of chasing relics with very little sleep would do that to a person, she supposed. Bed seemed far too far away. She yawned broadly and stretched out on her sofa. Within seconds, she was out cold.

As Clara felt consciousness creeping up on her, she became aware of two things. The first was that she felt surprisingly refreshed, energetic, even. The second was that she was no longer on her sofa.

Clara blinked. The lights of the TARDIS console blinked back.

_And wasn’t this was a fine kettle of fish!_

It was all well and good to travel with The Doctor, but he certainly had some nerve taking her aboard while she was asleep. When he made himself known, she would give him what for!

She scrambled to her feet with a muttered curse. Oddly, the TARDIS did not censor the word as it usually did when one of them used foul language. _Curious, that._

“Doctor, what’s this about, then?”

She cringed as she spoke. Her voice felt gravelly and unnaturally low. She hoped she wasn’t catching a cold. And was that a Scottish accent? She’d obviously been spending too much time with a certain newly-Scottish alien…

She exhaled loudly and looked around her. Had the TARDIS shrunk slightly? Everything seemed… shorter. She hoped they wouldn’t have to un-shrink the TARDIS again. That had been such a hassle the first time…

Unwittingly, she slid her hands into her trouser pockets. Also odd, as she had been wearing a dress when the Doctor dropped her off. She glanced down. Black trousers, black jacket… with red lining…

“Ok, this is really weird.” She strode quickly over to the nearest hallway and cupped a hand around her mouth. “Doctor! Where are you? Why am I here? And why am I wearing the same bloody magician outfit? Not that I don’t look better in it… And holy shit why am I Scottish?!”

The most obvious explanation was the most fantastical one, of course. It didn’t make any sense, but then again nothing ever did once you met The Doctor.

Mirror. She needed a mirror.

She ran down the hallway to the small room she had claimed for their longer travels together. It was almost a relief to have her suspicions confirmed. There, staring wide-eyed, was The Doctor. Clara moved a hand in front of her and the mirror Doctor did the same. She furrowed the heavy brows, wrinkled her nose. She stuck out her tongue and waggled it up and down. The mirror Doctor followed suit every time.

Stuck halfway between laughter and tears, Clara turned away from the mirror and took several deep breaths. She exhaled slowly through her mouth, finally noticing the dual heartbeat.

Right. So she was The Doctor, now. She’d been The Doctor before, in a manner of speaking. She could do this. First thing’s first – find Clara.

A certain, familiar warmth flooded her as she pictured her real face. The two hearts beat a more rapid staccato in her (his) chest. She wondered if it was some sort of residual sense memory. Or perhaps she was just excited to get back to her own body.

Either way, instinct took over and she suddenly knew exactly what needed doing, next. Placing her fingers into the telepathic matrix of the ship had always been surprisingly intimate. That was partly due to the Doctor standing so close behind her, his breath in her ear. The first time, she had tried not to react to the shiver it sent down her spine. The second time, she had been too distracted to even really notice her physical reactions.

This time was different. Very, very different.

As she concentrated on _Clara Oswald_ , memories of every trip they had ever taken together washed over her. The Doctor’s insecurity over her reaction to his regeneration hit her like a punch to the gut. _Had she really been so cold to him? Could she really have said those things about the face she had come to cherish so?_ Guilt and remorse thrummed through her. That bled into memories of The Doctor’s own. Without a way to direct them, (s)he felt _everything_. Every little hurt, every failure, every life he wasn’t able to save. It ran so deeply, a torrent of conflict and self-loathing, the yearning to make it right, make it better. Darkness she couldn’t even begin to process.

Clara was crying. The tears dripping freely down that dear, craggy face. Heavy sobs from her (his) belly surging up and spilling over. Still the emotions kept coming. The way his hearts seemed to wither in his chest when Clara told him she was no longer going to travel with him. The wellspring of joy at her return. The anger that she had lied, mixed with that knife’s edge of jealousy toward Danny.

At the eye of the storm was Clara, herself. But not as _she_ saw herself. It was old Clara and young Clara and every other lifetime she had lived all molded together. Her image was fuzzy around the edges and nearly formless but shining brightly as a star in supernova. The Clara of his mind was all wide eyes and curiosity, nimble mind and quick wit. She radiated warmth and affection. She was his friend, his carer, and everything that mattered most in his world. She was…

_Oh God._

Clara pulled her fingers out of the telepathic goo and covered her mouth. Her heart(s) felt ready to burst from her (his) chest.

It was one thing to suspect the depth of his feelings for her and quite another to see it through his eyes.

There really could be no denying it, now. The Doctor loved her. Or rather, The Doctor was _in love_ with her. Perhaps he had been all along.

_Then why keep pushing her away?_

That racing, relentlessly logical part of her (his) brain whispered that she knew exactly why. She shook her head. Now was not the time to try and unravel the mysteries of The Doctor. It felt wrong to even continue, like a violation of privacy. But she needed to find him. In order to do that, she needed to find herself. If she was in The Doctor’s body, he had to be in hers. There was no way she could reverse this without him.

_Focus, Clara. You can do this. Just find him._

She placed her fingers back in. The tempest had ebbed a little and she found it a little easier to navigate. Recent memories of Christmas and the interwoven dream states. Her accepting his offer to keep travelling together. A bowstring-tight knot of anticipation. The hugs she thrust upon him and how much control he had to exert not to take advantage….

_Take advantage? Of what?_

_Focus, Clara!_

Ah! There is was. The memory of their most recent adventure. Running from the heavy clomping Judoon. Breaking into that old manor house. The passage he had read aloud from that dusty book that even the TARDIS couldn’t translate. That must have done it.

_‘No such thing as magic’, my arse, Doctor._

She grasped that memory and threw herself at it.

_I need to be with him! Take me to him!_

The TARDIS began to make that familiar noise and within a few minutes she knew it had landed in her living room. She ran to the door and burst through it.

“Clara! Finally!” If the rug was any indication, The Doctor had been pacing for quite some time.

Overjoyed, Clara bounded to him and enveloped him in a hug with those long arms. She felt him twitch futilely against her chest before reluctantly hugging back. Interestingly, she also felt the Doctor’s body react to their proximity. An organ she was not accustomed to having gave a twitch of its own and she stumbled back, feeling very disoriented.

On her face, The Doctor’s usually inscrutable gaze looked more like plain embarrassment. Belatedly, she noticed something.

“Hey, you’ve changed my clothes!”

He shrugged. “Your dress was wrinkled. And it needed a wash.”

“Yes, but that means you’ve seen me in my knickers!”

The Doctor’s cheeks flushed pink and Clara was struck for a moment with the thought that she looked very pretty, today.

“You’ve seen me in less. The previous me, anyway.” He countered.

“Yeah, well, he volunteered. I didn’t.”

The Doctor furrowed his (her) brows but it did not look nearly as intimidating on that face. “I did try not to look. It’s not my fault you’ve got mirrors everywhere. Really, if you want to blame anyone, I’d place it squarely at the feet of your own vanity.”

It was Clara’s turn to blush. “Yeah, fine. My fault, then.” Glaring felt far more effective in this skin. Now, she understood why he did it so often. “Vain and bossy must be your type.” She muttered, half to herself.

“What was that?” The Doctor’s eyes went even wider.

“Erm. So, how do we fix this, then? Before I’m due for a bath, myself… You didn’t bathe me, did you?” Why the Doctor’s body persisted in finding that image _so very_ … Clara sat down and crossed her (his) legs.

_Down, boy!_

The Doctor made a choking noise. “No. I did not… Look, I think perhaps I ought to go back alone and try to figure out how this happened.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “One: No, you’re not taking off with my body and not me. Two: I’ve already figured out how it happened, I just need you to get us back there so we can find that damned book.”

He looked impressed despite himself. “Clever… girl.”

Clara grinned and stood up, extending a hand. “C’mon, then, Mr. Clara.”

He took it, looking surprised at the honorific. “Yes… ma’am.”

***

Luckily the journey back to the manor had been uneventful. The book in question was still there. They took it with them for safe measure. Shortly after The Doctor had spoken the words, they both fell asleep.

This time, when Clara awoke, she had been tucked into a bed. She immediately looked at her hands and body to make sure they were her own. All appeared back to normal. A quick check in the mirror affirmed it. She gave a whoop of joy and shimmied for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of being back in her own skin. The Doctor’s body had been quite healthy and energetic but too frenetic and reactive for her tastes. So much tension always crackling under the surface. It was no wonder he seemed so wound up. Especially around her.

Then again, that could have been her own attraction manifested in his body. She exhaled noisily. It was very hard to tell. Just looking at herself hadn’t elicited a reaction, but the hugging and the thought of the two of them in the bath certainly had.

_Glad to have escaped full narcissism, at least._

Clara wandered back to the console room, where she could already hear The Doctor puttering about. He was talking to himself but the TARDIS was not translating it for her. When he heard her approach, he stopped and stared, like a deer in the headlights.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I woke up naturally. Or as naturally as one can from a… a curse or whatever that was.” She walked over and leaned against the console. They were close but not touching, as she was starting to get a better idea what touching The Doctor really did to him.

He made a face. “Curse? Hardly. The book has a microchip in it. It projects some sort of telepathic field between people. The words are a password to keep it protected. This one is broken, though. Not supposed to supplant one person’s consciousness with another. I’ll be writing a strongly worded letter to the manufacturer.”

“Oh, I thought it was some kind of _Freaky Friday_ thing.” Clara joked.

His brows drew together in confusion. “It’s Thursday.”

She rolled her eyes. “Our next adventure ought to be me taking you to a cinema.”

“If you like.” He had turned his attention back to the micro-chipped book.

“It’s a date, then?” She prompted.

The Doctor’s head flew up and he blinked owlishly at her. “If you like.” He answered cautiously.

She turned toward him. “I would.” Not breaking eye contact, she slid a hand across the console and covered one of his. She slid her fingers between his, stroking the side of his palm with her thumb and relishing the way his eyes darkened almost immediately. “I would like that very much.”


End file.
